TUBBY Hubby (TH) and I are not speaking to each other. And I blame the tiger.
A grubby wooden one, covered in dust and flaking yellow paint.
TH had bought it on a vacation in Vietnam with an ex-girlfriend. It's the ugliest statue I've ever seen, and I'm being charitable here.
When we first set up home, we were so poor we consolidated everything from our own homes to avoid having to buy furniture.
We saved a lot, but also ended up with a hodge-podge decor, which looked so strange that we never dared to invite any friends over.
To give you an idea, my bachelorette pad was all country florals while his was minimalist white.
Over the years, I have thrown away most of my stuff because of TH's 'no-frills' edict. But he has stubbornly held on to his pieces with the grip of a drowning man.
That's where the tiger comes in. It once took pride of place in his flat. I had no idea why he was so fond of the badly-carved and indifferently-painted piece of wood.
But when TH - then a boyfriend I was trying to impress - asked me what I thought of it. I said: 'Er, well, it's kinda cute.'
My mum had no such qualms. The first time she saw it, she whispered to me: 'Get rid of it fast.'
Though no feng shui freak, she knew it was not auspicious to have a tiger in your home - especially one with its mouth wide open to swallow all your good fortune.
Like her, I'm not normally superstitious, but we needed all the luck we could get then: TH's business had failed, he couldn't find a job, he was falling ill regularly and we were broke.
Even TH acknowledged that soon after buying the tiger, he caught a mysterious virus that almost killed him.
I told him we should throw the tiger away for fengshui reasons. I figured that, being a white guy, he wouldn't argue with something as culturally-sensitive as that.
Plus, I wouldn't have to hurt his feelings by insulting his pet. But he became even more sentimental.
Every time I hinted that the Salvation Army might find it a better home, he would make a sad face and refuse to reply.
So for the past three years, it has languished like some malignant god in the darkest corner of the library, with two hongbaos stuffed in its mouth for good luck.
It would probably have stayed there forever if we weren't moving house.
I am slowly getting rid of the clutter we've accumulated in the past years and I'd sneakily considered donating the tiger to Salvation Army without telling TH, but decided against it because I knew he'd pout for weeks.
So I asked him instead: 'What are we going to do with that thing?'
'I offered to get rid of it,' he retorted.
Right. His 'offer' had been half-hearted, something like: 'If you become an eBay seller and if you can get nice photos and if you can find a seller who will pay lots of money, then I will consider letting it go.'
This time, though, I'm standing my ground. Even if I have to hurt him by telling him that I think his pet is like no creature ever seen in this world.
But until then, does anyone want a 2kg Vietnamese water puppet carved from solid wood?
